What Was Her Name?
by Angharad-Emrys-Potter-W7
Summary: "What was her name?" I barely whispered, clutching my legs tighter. The man turned his face up to the light, his blue eyes glinting in the setting sun, a million miles away, in another world of heady romance and forbidden love. A girl stumbles across an old man one day and listens to his story. *I suck at summaries, I'm sorry. Please read and review c:*


It was the evening of a bright, sunny day. Gnats danced around in clouds under the shade of the trees and the lights filtered softly through the trees. The grass under my feet was soft and springy and even though it was dusk, the air was still moderately warm.

I ventured further into the wood, flicking my black hair out my face. As I turned left to take the path back home, I spotted some smoke swirling up just behind a particularly thick clump of trees. I may not be a whiz at maths, but I can put two and two together. Smoke and a hot day equals fire. However, we didn't get forest fires here in Britain. That could only mean one thing: someone had started the fire.

Usually, Adrian and his bunch of idiots hung around this area, so whenever I heard them I'd just turn and walk the other way, to avoid being harassed by them. Oddly, I couldn't hear the raucous laughter that usually surrounded them, nor could I hear the thud of trainers as they ran around like the goons they were. I shook my head. Why Phoebe was dating Adrian I'd never know.

I knew I should just turn around and head back home, but curiosity got the better of me. I just _had_ to find out who was making this fire. Partly because they were a potential hazard, and partly because I was just nosy. My mother always said my inquistive nature would drive her to an early grave.

I headed towards the direction of the fire, fighting against the thicket of trees and brambles reaching out and clawing my face. As I stumbled through to a clearing, angrily batting away a branch of thorns and stomping on a stinging nettle, I spotted him.

An old man was crouched next to a small fire. He had a long white beard and withered skin that clung softly in folds to the bone underneath. He wore a grubby blue coat and a satchel was abandoned on the grass next to him. He was crouched next to the fire, muttering in a strange language. I turned to leave, and my foot caught on a branch, snapping it in half. The man looked like a homeless person, and barking mad to boot. I wanted to get away.

He spun around suddenly, his face registering surprise. "You!" he growled, but then seemed to collect himself.

"I-I'm sorry-I was just-" I stammered. He smiled gently, and my fear evaporated.

"It's ok. You just remind me of a girl I used to know." He said softly. His voice held a pure English accent, the one my mother would call 'proper' but not posh. It had an edge of cockiness to it, though, and conjured images of a cheeky younger version in my head. Encouraged by the possibility, I edged forward. "Who was she?"

The man's smiled soured slightly. "She was beautiful. Skin like cream and roses, lips set scarlet against the porcelain skin. When I first saw her, I was helping out at a banquet, and she glided past me like a swan, her slim body sheathed in a dress of the deepest crimson, her raven hair pulled back from her angular face to reveal stunning cheekbones.

"Every man's head turned as she walked past, but I was the only one who's eyes she sought. Over the time that I stayed in the..house she was situated, we developed a romance. In secret, however, as I was risking my neck. Her father wouldn't approve of our relationship..."

"That's so sad.." I murmered. The story had folded me into a world of bittersweet memories. "What happened next?"

"She turned cold and dark, and spun away from me, taking all the light in my life with her. She sought to destroy me and her brother, because of a decision I had to make to save my friend. It was said she was the darkness to my light, the hatred to my love..she went from dresses of the finest materials, silk and gossamer and velvet, to rough spun garments of black lace. I still loved her, for some reason...still believed she had a heart of gold."

I sat down next to him and hugged my knees. "Did you save her?" I asked. The man looked down, grief etched in his face, the corners of his mouth turned down. "No," he replied. "I couldn't save her. She died in my arms."

The warm evening suddenly became colder, clouds masking the sky. The gentle whine of the insects stopped, and the man's story chilled me to the bone. "What was her name?" I barely whispered, clutching my legs tighter.

The man turned his face up to the light, his blue eyes glinting in the setting sun, a million miles away, in another world of heady romance and forbidden love.

"Morgana," he answered, his face lighting up slowly. "Morgana Pendragon."


End file.
